


You'll Be in my Heart

by TheWriterWhoNeverWrites



Category: The Tarot Sequence - K.D. Edwards
Genre: Addam meeting baby Quinn, Also my desire to fight Lady justice personified in a fic, Baby Fic, Fluff, Gen, Hospitals, Lady Justice is a Bad Mom, Minor Angst, Pre-Canon, more medical information then is probably needed, mostly softness, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:15:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26167759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWriterWhoNeverWrites/pseuds/TheWriterWhoNeverWrites
Summary: They had told him early on that Quinn would be in the incubator for some time, something about imitating a womb until he was closer to a normal gestation age. He paused at the edge of it, overwhelmed suddenly at the idea of seeing Quinn for the first time.Seeing Quinn. He was going to get to see Quinn.**Alternatively, Addam meeting baby Quinn for the first time. The Daddam origin story.
Relationships: Addam Saint Nicholas & Quinn Saint Nicholas
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18
Collections: TTS Bingo 2020 Fills





	You'll Be in my Heart

**Author's Note:**

> My fill for the prompt "Crying" from the TTS Bingo.
> 
> Also the result of the discord talking about Daddam so much, as well as my personal love for "You'll be in My Heart" from Tarzan.   
> Seriously, listen to that song and imagine Addam and Quinn. It's so soft.
> 
> Extra thanks to Vivi for being the beta for this. I've never had someone beta my writing for me and it was genuinely an honour to have your feedback (Cue my pleading face). Thank you again!!

He jolted, blinking awake.

His first thought was  _ ow _ and his second was  _ where am I _ .

He glanced around at the white walls, took in the dark sky through the large domed window above him, the men and women walking swiftly around clad in scrubs, the crick in his neck, the hard-plastic beneath him.

_ Hospital. _

_ Quinn. _

He groaned, and a soft chuckle reached his ears.

“Addam?”

“Mm?”

His mind still wasn’t working at quite the level he wanted it to, but he looked at the young woman in front of him and did his best to offer her a kind smile. She was one of the many nurses he’d gotten to know in the past week, and he knew that she was on the second half of her last night shift of the week. Her and an older male nurse, Don, had spoken to him earlier in the evening regarding Quinn’s slowly stabilizing vitals. She was wearing burgundy scrubs, a stethoscope strung across her shoulders and a name tag reading  _ Marianne, RN o _ n the left side of her chest. Despite the hours on her feet she returned his smile, glancing down at the clipboard she was holding.

“I’m sorry to wake you, but I have some news.”

And suddenly he was much more awake. He sat up with a start, holding back another groan at the way his back and neck resisted the movement. The events of the past week hit him with a jolt.

_ His mom. _

_ The birth. _

_ “I see no reason to stay. He’ll either live or he won’t.” _

_ Quinn. _

He shook his head, shaggy, unwashed blonde hair falling into his eyes as he tried to clear his mind.

He glanced at the nurse who was watching him, no judgement in her eyes.

“May I...” He yawned as he rolled his neck, ignoring the sharp crack it made, “May I see him?”

He hadn’t been allowed to since the fiasco had begun. His mother being rushed to the hospital for an emergency premature birth, her brief stay in the hospital for healing, the confirmation afterwards that the preemie,  _ Quinn, _ would have to stay in the hospital for at least three weeks post birth for observation. Through it all, the doctors hadn’t let him past the waiting room. He hadn’t originally planned to  _ want _ to go past the waiting room. Had merely come to greet his newest sibling upon their arrival into the world and go back to his life. The girl he’d been seeing recently had been trying to convince him to come home since the second day, kept saying it wasn’t his problem. She was lovely, but she didn’t understand why he couldn’t leave.  _ He _ didn’t understand why he couldn’t leave. Because she was right, it shouldn’t be his problem. But his mom…

_ He’ll either live or he won’t. My presence changes nothing. _

She’d left as soon as she could, barely a glance behind her before she’d returned to the house of Justice and her duties. The moment that she’d been told that he may not survive, Quinn had left her mind. When the baby was touch and go. When the umbilical cord had cut off his oxygen long enough that he’d apparently been close to death. When her  _ newborn _ was struggling just to survive. It didn’t matter.

Weakness was weakness, and Addam knew her thoughts on the subject. One was either strong enough to resist the consequences of life independently, or too weak to be worth spending time on. Any broken bones or hearts in his youth had been faced with the same attitude. They were his to deal with, his to handle. She had never been one for embraces or comfort, showing only brief moments of affection through her responses to any mistreatment they received. Because she was justice, and justice only came after the pain was doled out.

He wasn’t sure if she’d even held her baby since the birth. She was the only one who would have been permitted to, Quinn’s requirement for incubation crossing over with the need for some skin-to-skin contact, but he was sure that she hadn’t.

And since then? Since she’d walked out of the hospital with her meticulously packed bags and confused doctors at her back, he hadn’t been able to follow. He wasn’t sure what it was,  _ why _ he stayed. Christian left soon after his mother had, and Ella hadn’t been allowed to come at all. But he’d barely left the waiting room, asking the receptionists as politely as he could every few hours for updates, and only leaving the floor when his requirement for food became too much to bear.

At first, the doctors hadn’t told Addam much, information only being available to the direct parents of the child. Atlantis did not pity the weak, but newborns were typically given a little more leeway. In normal situations Quinn probably would have been put up for adoption, or additional family would have been called. The birth of the child of an Arcana was not a normal situation however, and the hospital staff had no interest in crossing Lady Justice for any reason. So, after a couple days of being met with exhausted annoyance from the doctors, he’d finally been deemed Quinn’s unofficial guardian. He was their best chance, and he wasn’t sure what to make of the joy that started to build when they finally gave him that first update.

_ Guardian. _

He hadn’t quite let the term sink in, the implications of such a small word in the grand scheme of things. Instead he’d slowly made his way through each hard, tiny, plastic chair in the waiting room and learned the names of each of the nursing and cleaning staff, as well as their coffee orders. It turned out the offer of free caffeine was an easy way to earn the trust of the staff, and he very quickly knew each of them by name. It also acted as a distraction, as most of his social interactions did. Helping people, making people smile, putting time and energy and work into them filled that empty place in his chest. A place that would fester and build when he spent too much time alone.

So, when Marianne’s smile widened and she nodded, he pushed the exhaustion and soreness from his mind and grinned. He stood quickly, too quickly, and caught himself on the arm of the chair he’d just been sat on as his blood rushed back to his feet. A hand clasped his shoulder and sheepishness fell across his smile.

“Sorry, I had forgotten how much time I spent in that chair.” His grip tightened as a second wave of dizziness passed over him, “I can see him then? Now?”

His voice was still rough with sleep, and he hoped that the accent that many friends and lovers said sometimes bled into his words wasn’t too strong. Marianne merely gave his shoulder another squeeze before letting go.

“Yes. We wanted to let you know as soon as possible, otherwise we would have let you sleep. You’ve spent…A long time here Addam.”

Finally able to see clearly - the spots that had danced in his vision fading - he straightened,

“Yes, and I’m sorry about that Mari. I don’t mean to make your shifts more difficult than they already are.”

“Nonsense,” The woman laughed, pulling away from him and starting towards the ward room hallways, glancing behind her to ensure that he was following, “You’ve been one of the most well-behaved chair sleepers we’ve had in a while, though my girlfriend has started to get jealous.”

She sent a smirk behind her,

“At this point I’ve seen you more than her this week.”

He laughed as they continued down the hallway, taking a turn to the left at the end before continuing down the straight blank white halls. More nurses and doctors slid past them as they went, eyes focused and much too bright for how early in the morning Addam was sure it was. As they entered the NICU, each door was painted with small intricate designs that seemed to ebb and flow through the paint. They weren’t  _ moving,  _ but the paint seemed to be alive as he passed the rainbows and kittens and flowers on each door. Finally, they came to a room near the middle of the hall, the door covered in small painted fish. Mari paused outside the door, not moving to push it open and instead facing him straight on.

“Like Don said earlier, he’s been improving a lot, and we’re optimistic about his progress. With incubation he’s been able to maintain a stable internal body temperature and his blood pressure started stabilizing yesterday morning and has been stable since. He’s growing at a normal rate for a 24-week preemie and has yet to show any signs of respiratory or gastrointestinal problems, though we’ll be continuing to watch for those.”

He nodded along, hoping some semblance of the information would stick in his mind in case he needed it later. She continued,

“We have four babies in this room. Since Quinn’s O2 stats started stabilizing Friday…” She trailed off at his confused expression and reiterated, “Since his oxygen levels are normal, we’ve been able to move him from single intensive care to here. Doctor Varington will be in at seven to give you a more formal update and discuss future implications, but like I said, we wanted to get you in as soon as we could.”

He nodded her thanks to her, eyes still set resolutely on the door.

Quinn was behind that door. His baby brother was behind that door. The baby who’d yet to be held, smiled at, or acknowledged by anyone in his family. Who’d lived the first week of his life in the isolated warmth of an incubator, unaware of how many people had already given up on him. The baby who he was now the  _ guardian _ of. Tears prickled at the side of his eyes and he took a breath, willing them away before looking at the nurse beside him,

“Shall we?”

When he walked into the room, he was surprised by how mechanical it looked. He knew he shouldn’t have been - it was still a hospital - but there was a warmth that he had instinctively expected of a baby’s room that wasn’t present here. There were attempts; the fish design from the door continued into the room, fish and other small sea creatures dancing across the walls, and he could see the brightness of baby toys on a counter to the left. But the room still smelled like the staleness of a hospital and four quick, steady beeps were echoing through the room from heart monitors. The large crib shaped incubators did nothing to hide what this really was.

Marianne walked into the room, leading him to the far-left side of it as she said,

“I should mention, his reflexes are still developing, so we’ve had a bit of trouble feeding him.”

When he tilted his head in confusion she explained,

“Babies born at term are born with natural reflexes. The most important are the rooting and the suck reflex. Rooting is what causes the baby to turn towards a sensation that rubs at the side of their cheek, and the sucking reflex is just as it sounds, the instinct to suck when a nipple is present. They make feeding after birth significantly easier.”

She glanced at him to ensure understanding before continuing,

“Premature babies, especially ones as premature as Quinn, aren’t born with these reflexes. It can make feeding them difficult. Luckily, your mother has sent some milk to us for feeding, which will at least allow him to get the antibody protection he needs for the next couple weeks.”

He stopped dead, not fully comprehending what she’d said,

“My mother? She’s come here?”

Confusion laced his voice. He’d barely left the hospital in the last week, how could she have possibly entered without him noticing? How could she come in without speaking to him, acknowledging him?

Marianne stopped ahead of him and gave him a sympathetic smile before shaking her head,

“No. I’m sorry, she hasn’t. She’s been sending men with some pumped bottles every few days. We haven’t heard from her directly since she left.”

His confusion faded into the vague disappointment he’d stopped allowing to affect him when in relation to his mother. It had become less painful as he aged, the constant expectation of the inevitable disappointment lessening the effects of her actions by this point. But still. He’d hoped…

He wasn’t sure what he’d hoped for. But it was more than this inactive dismissal.

She’d receive no backlash for it either, he was fully aware. She’d cite that the Arcana needed her, that her duties came before anything else and any potentially doubting public would eat it up. Quinn would show up for publicity stunts as he aged, a young scion overcoming obstacles even at birth, his presence a clear sign that she’d done nothing wrong.

Assuming Quinn survived. Which wasn’t a guarantee yet.

They continued their way into the room, until they came to the last incubator. It was a large yellow and grey dome, the top made of clear glass that allowed one to look at the baby without opening it. They had told him early on that Quinn would be in the incubator for some time, something about imitating a womb until he was closer to a normal gestation age. He paused at the edge of it, overwhelmed suddenly at the idea of seeing Quinn for the first time.

Seeing Quinn. He was going to get to see Quinn.

Marianne seemed to notice his hesitance and came beside him,

“It’s normal for parents…” She paused as he sent her what must have been a panicked look at the word, and restarted, “It’s normal for  _ guardians _ of premature babies to be scared the first time they see their baby, the first time they hold them. It’s a whole new experience for you  _ and _ for Quinn. But I’m right here, the machines are all functioning, and no one in this hospital will let anything happen to him, alright? I won’t allow you to do anything to harm him, even by accident.”

It was as if she’d read his fears from his face, and he took another breath, fingers tapping against each other in a nonsensical rhythm. She’d clearly interacted with many nervous “guardians” in the past, as she took the first step forwards to the edge of the incubator. A small smile fell across her face as she glanced inside but she said nothing, allowing Addam to take his own time in joining her.

He took another quick breath before taking his own step forwards, coming up beside her and glancing inside.

It was…

It was indescribable what he felt in that moment.

A hand came to his mouth on instinct, the tears he’d been pushing back from before coming back with a vengeance as he continued to stare at the tiny baby asleep in the incubator.

His mind was silent, nothing moving through his thoughts except:

_ Quinn. Quinn, Quinn Quinn Quinn. _

He was tiny, so very  _ very  _ tiny, smaller than Addam had ever imagined an Atlantean, even a  _ human _ could ever be. He had on a pale-yellow onesie that matched his incubator, barely visible from beneath the blankets, only peaking out in the areas that tubes were exiting his small body. The beeping from before was even louder here, and he tore his eyes away from Quinn only to glance at the heart monitor. To watch the quick and steady up and down of the line as it described each beat of his baby’s heart.

_ His baby. _

He wasn’t his. Quinn would not and could not be his. But as his vision moved naturally back to the small form cuddled beneath the glass, he couldn’t help but ignore that nagging thought. Could only wipe at the tears on his cheeks as the rapid movement of Quinn’s chest assured him each second that he was alive, that he was breathing, and that he was still fighting.

He brought a hand to the edge of the incubator, allowing it to rest there, unable to help himself as he quietly whispered,

“You’re so strong  _ малыш. _ ” 1

He wasn’t sure how much time he spent staring at him, his tears starting anew when Quinn opened his eyes for the first time and Addam was met with bright burgundy. Quinn’s eyes were lighter than his own, the colour clear and vibrant despite his small size. And just from looking at them, just from locking eyes with him for the first time, Addam knew everything had changed. Something locked into place at that moment, a connection, a bond that he had no control over. All he knew then was that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for him, that despite everything he would do whatever possible to keep Quinn safe. The overwhelming need to protect and hold combined with the sudden penetrating knowledge that Quinn still  _ might not make it _ caused him to turn to where Marianne was still standing beside him, watching him closely.

“Can I hold him? I…” He cut himself off, unsure where the urge came from, where the panic that was now coating his words had come from. But once he spoke it aloud, he couldn’t get it out of his head.

To hold him.  _ Hold Quinn _ . To have that small, helpless, beautiful baby in his arms. His voice came out in a low rasp as he repeated,

“Can I hold him?”

Marianne’s face was serious as she studied him, before taking a glance at Quinn’s chart. And a small part of him wanted her to answer him quickly, to shake her and make her tell him right away that he  _ could _ , but another deeper part of him was grateful for the care she took in ensuring it was alright. She looked at him again before saying,

“We’ve started to feed him outside of the incubator yesterday to help him slowly adjust to the sucking motion. He’s still mostly being fed through the tube,” She said, gesturing at the small tube exiting Quinn’s nose, “but this practice will make the transition to bottle feeding easier for him later. He’s due for a feed sometime in the next two hours…” She trailed off, setting her hand on his shoulder in an imitation of how she’d woken him earlier, eyes calculating.

“Addam, I want you to hold him. But I need you to be calm first.”

He fought back the instinct to assure her that  _ he was calm _ , and merely nodded. If the slight shake in his hands was any indication, his argument would not win.

“I’m going to remove his feeding tube first to make the feeding easier for you,” She continued, moving back towards the incubator now, “While I’m doing that, why don’t you go on a quick walk around the floor? You can hold him and feed him when you return.”

He couldn’t speak - the reality that he was going to get to  _ hold Quinn _ overwhelming any ability to reply - so he just nodded again, moving slowly and numbly towards the door.

The walk turned out to be a great idea. He’d stopped home briefly on the second day to grab some deodorant and his ipod, and the small device turned out to be very useful as he made his way through the corridors. His trip took him towards an empty part of the hospital and, after ensuring no one else was around, he finally let the music overtake him, allowing his limbs to move as they wished as he glided up and down the hallway.

After the third song, his mind was calmer, his heart rate increased due to the movement instead of overwhelming thoughts, and the urge to move his hands he’d been fighting against in the incubator room had faded. So, he allowed the fourth song to start up, but instead of continuing the same motions as before, his feet carried him back to Quinn’s room.

Which brought him to now.

Now, when he was sitting in the most comfortable chair he’d been offered since his arrival at the hospital, watching Marianne as she brought him a fortified bottle of breast milk before opening the incubator.

The nurse cooed quietly as she reached in, pulling up in a gentle motion until Quinn was at her chest, his head supported in one hand and his bottom in another.

Addam was sure his eyes were wide as the nurse walked slowly towards him, her fingers making gentle movements on the side of Quinn’s head. He looked even smaller outside of the incubator, and he was sure that the effect would be doubled once Quinn was in his arms. Marianne’s hands were small, her fingers short and thin. Just a glance at them was enough to know that his own would engulf hers easily. Even swaddled in the multiple layers of blankets, she barely needed both hands to hold Quinn.

She knelt slowly in front of him, before beginning to instruct him on when to move his hands, how to straighten his body to allow for Quinn to rest comfortably and safely against him.

_ And then Quinn was in his arms. _

He barely felt his breath catch in his throat before the tears were returning, gently prickling at his eyes this time instead of falling in steady streams. He’d been right about how small Quinn was, and he stared in unabashed awe at the way the tiny baby almost fit in one of his hands. His left-hand supported Quinn’s head, the blanket he was cocooned in allowing Addam to rest him partially in the nook of his elbow, while his right hand grasped the warmed bottle Marianne had set beside him.

She didn’t move from where she was in front of him, watching him quietly with soft eyes as he took in the wonder of holding his brother. After a few moments had passed, Marianne spoke softly into the silence,

“Before you start to feed him, rub at the side of his cheek by his mouth.”

He followed her instructions, bringing the tip of his pinky finger to the side of Quinn’s mouth and rubbing gently. Quinn squirmed at the contact, and a small gurgling noise exited his mouth as his eyes started to open. Once again met with bright burgundy, Addam allowed his hand to move on instinct, gently moving through the thin strands of white blonde hair peeking out from under the blanket. 

Bringing his hand back towards Quinn’s mouth, he rubbed the baby's cheek again, resting the bottle by his lips. And then Quinn's bright eyes were entirely focused on the bottle, his lips opening slightly before latching onto the nipple of it, sucking softly. There was an instinct in Addam that wanted to cheer, wanted to celebrate each and every movement and sound Quinn made, no matter how small or inconsequential. 

And as he watched his baby brother, as he observed each small movement Quinn made, he wasn’t sure what the future was going to hold. But he knew Quinn was going to be in it.

And that was important, that was necessary.

**Author's Note:**

> 1: малыш means “Little one” or is an affectionate way of saying “baby” (Specifically male)


End file.
